


I Can’t Make It On My Own

by bereshit001



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mass Effect 2, Shepard Twins, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8317342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bereshit001/pseuds/bereshit001
Summary: John and Jane Shepard, military twins. One is a Spectre, the other is the Captain of the Normandy. They are tough, efficient and inseparable – that is, until one day everything comes crashing down.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This novel is all thanks to Morrandir (his penname here is farbas) who introduced the Mass Effect universe to me and played the game with me. We came up with this idea together and he will also post a fiction with these characters. :)

_I_   
_Have wondered about you_   
_Where will you be_   
_When this is through?_

 

It was the same nightmare as always. Images of destruction soaked in blood-red and flame-yellow. Flesh tearing apart, giving way to wires and electronic circuits. Millions upon millions of protheans dead. Ilos. Sovereign. Annihilation of every living thing…

Blackness.

Blackness so cold he was chilled to the bone.

There was nothing but infinite space around him; no place to hide, no place to go back. He was alone, drifting. Suffocating. Freezing. There was no air, no warmth, only numbing quiet. He was dying, slowly, agonizingly, without oxygen and any source of heat.

There was a planet below him, its sun’s orange light highlighted its silhouette and blinked at him with its last rays of sunshine before it disappeared behind the globe.

He was utterly alone.

Shepard opened his eyes to darkness. He needed a few disorientating moments to gather himself, then reached out and fumbled around until he found the light switch. The sudden brightness that filled the room temporarily blinded him; with a hand shielding his eyes he sat up on the bed.

The temperature was comfortably warm yet he shivered uncontrollably. The nightmare lingered at the back of his mind, replaying its images over and over again, using the inner-side of his eyelids as projector screens. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes to only see blackness – but none of that could shake out the feeling of terrified loneliness from his soul.

In all his life Shepard had been alone for approximately twenty minutes, that is until his twin sister had followed him into the real world, albeit in a swifter way than he had done. Mother had always said that between the two of them Jane was the more considerate one.

After that they had been inseparable. They had been together through thick and thin, always looking out for each other. They had been together in school, in pranks, and they had also been together when slavers raided their colony and killed everybody they loved. That had been the first time he had been prepared to protect his sister with his life – and he was sure Jane had felt the same. So they had enlisted with the military together, gone through boot camp together and climbed the Alliance ranks together. He had pushed her harder and harder until they both got through the N7 training and she had dragged his sorry ass out of Akuze in one piece.

He couldn’t bear to be alone…

Had she felt the same way as she had floated further and further away from the destroyed Normandy, quickly losing oxygen and any hope of rescue?

He pressed the heels of his hands deeper into his eyes until it hurt.

“Another nightmare?” The sheets shifted behind him and a blue, soft-skinned hand slipped upwards on his back in a smooth, lustful way until it settled on his tense shoulder. “I can make it go away, if you desire.”

Shepard grunted and blinked the fuzzy spots out of his eyes. “Pain and loss makes us stronger and keeps us alive, isn’t that what you told us the first time we met?”

“There is time for grief and there is time for forgiveness.”

“Is that an advice or a comfort?”

Sha’ira, the Citadel’s most famous, influential and sought-out consort remained serene despite the sarcasm and venom that dripped from Shepard’s voice. “It’s the truth your eyes are too clouded to see.”

With a pathetic growl Shepard pulled away from the touch and stood up. “You wouldn’t understand.”

The Consort’s bedroom was like any other room in the Citadel: spacious, grey and bare, deprived of any personal touch. The only unique furniture was the enormous bed which looked like a purple bubble with its enclosable glass walls. There were no windows of any kind, only a huge screen on one side of the room, capable to project any image to make the illusion that the onlooker was somewhere else than a giant heap of metal hovering in deep space. Right now it showed a moonlit green field with the fresh shoots of wheat gently rocking in the wind; no doubt the asari’s attempt to recreate Mindoir and give him a sense of home. Pity how utterly it failed.

“I understand blame,” Sha’ira stated softly, without offense, “and I understand how it can eat away the strongest of men. Here is my advice: to stop the nightmares, you have to accept that what happened wasn’t your fault.”

Wasn’t it?

Sure, in the beginning none of them were in control of the unfolding events. They were assigned to the SSV Normandy by their superiors and Eden Prime supposed to be a routine recovery mission. Running into Saren then and there was pure luck (or bad luck), and the beacon… the beacon, that started this whole thing was an accident. Kaiden in his curiosity went too close to the damned thing, Jane pushed him away and then he tried to grab and pull his sister away. In the end both of them got caught in its pull.

But that was just the beginning. The Alliance had their eyes on them for a while then – John and Jane Shepard, military twins. It was a good résumé. They both had their specialty: he was better at close combat, she was better with technology. The promotions were little unexpected but not unwelcomed. The Alliance wanted _him_ to represent humanity among the Spectres – what would you expect from a military organization that was still dominated by male members? – and gave Jane the rank of Captain as well as the command of the Normandy. Albeit the latter was as much for his sake as for hers; a Spectre needed a ship and nobody wanted to separate their golden duo.

And from then on it was a race against time. They gathered their team, collected intel, kicked some serious geth ass and finally caught up with Saren. They blew his base of operation into oblivion with no casualties from their part. They even rescued the salarian task force, or what was left of them after their suicide mission. God, he admired their dedication!...

Then came Ilos. They were still shocked about what they found on the previous mission. Saren was only a pawn, a madman with grandiose believes but nonetheless a puppet, a victim of mind-control. Liara felt sorry for him and he inclined to agree. Jane thought that Saren had made his own choices and deserved no pity.

But what could they say about Sovereign? What they initially believed to be Saren’s _ship_ turned out to be a billion-year-old sentinel being – the very one who was behind all the geth attacks, the killing and brainwashing. A Reaper, responsible for the genocide of the prothean race fifty-thousand years ago. A Reaper, who intended to do the same with the galaxy’s current living races as the cycle of harvest was upon them.

Sovereign, one Reaper of many who called himself the vanguard of their destruction.

A hand reached out and tenderly cupped Shepard’s cheek as Sha’ira silently stepped beside him and turned his head towards herself. “Two years ago you came to me in your time of need. I saw the depth of sorrow in your eyes and dreaded it would consume you. You fear and grieve your loneliness yet you push away anybody who tries to help you.” She stood tall and firm next to him with her gaze locked into his, no clothes covering the pale glow of her smooth blue skin. She was calm, warm and alive, the embodiment of solace – however Shepard was in no mood for patronization.

“I thought, after everything, maybe you would… _know_ what I should do. You would say something that would give meaning to–”

“Your loss? Your life?” The Consort smiled sadly. “Despite my reputation, I can’t make miracles. I can only give guidance but whether my clients heed it or not is up to them. The head cannot be persuaded if the heart is not ready.”

Riddles. Just more riddles. He was sick and tired of them.

“This was clearly a mistake,” he declared irately and walked to the sofa to gather his scattered clothes and get dressed.

But Sha’ira followed him, reaching for him calmly. “It is not easy, Commander–”

“Don’t call me that!” Shepard snapped at her, forcefully knocking her hand away.

He was no Commander anymore. No Spectre either. They took away his rank, said he became a threat to himself and others, that he could no longer be accounted for. But what else could he expect from those traitorous Council members? After they had saved their skins from Sovereign and had given Anderson a seat among them they swept the whole Reaper problem under the rug, publicly naming Seran as the perpetrator of the Citadel attack. They gave Jane and him separate, trivial assignments to keep them from stressing on this matter – and he was the one who placated his sister that it was alright, they would be fine, just needed to find some proof the Council couldn’t ignore anymore. He sucked it up and did his duty as a loyal Spectre while Jane was away with the Normandy, doing Alliance work. And what did they get from it?

They couldn’t even recover his sister’s dead body, for God’s sake!

Shepard was furious. He was mad with rage and grief. The survivors couldn’t identify the attacking ship but it had undoubtingly superior technology, not unlike the geth’s. So Shepard waded through everything and everyone until he got a name. Collectors. A mostly unknown race living beyond the Omega 4 Relay and infamous for their odd trade requests.

That finally gave him a target for his revenge. Nobody could stop him now.

Normally Jane was the head-first type, shooting first and asking questions later. Well, the Collectors killed her so it was time for him to take up this trait. He would shoot any and every Collector and let the warden of hell ask the questions. If it was necessary, he would fight fire with fire.

As a Spectre he was free to act, however the Alliance disapproved of his one-sided mission and reassigned Kaiden, Ashley and all the Normandy’s other military crew far away from him. When in turn he verbally flipped them off and stopped reporting back to them, the Alliance concluded that in his emotional state he couldn’t make rational decisions and was no longer fit to serve. Only his status as the hero of the Battle of the Citadel saved him from court-martial and ensured him an honorary discharge.

It hindered his mission little. He enlisted to the military with his sister – without her it was just the reminder of painful memories. As a Specter he still had enough jurisdiction to hunt down the Collectors. The problem was that nobody seemed to know anything relevant about them, but Shepard was sure – he needed to be sure – that they could find them.

The body-count on his missions went up and up as he began to lose patience. Until, after a really screwed up raid that became a media hype, the Council, disappointed and enraged, revoked his Spectre status. From then on he didn’t own responsibility to anyone. It was good – it made him even more purposeful.

However, the more obsessed he got the more his team began to distance themselves from him. Liara was the first who left. She said she couldn’t bear to witness this bloodbath; said Jane would be disappointed in him. He sent her away yelling profanities in her face.

Next was Tali. She was more diplomatic, stating that her first duty was to her people and she needed to finish her Pilgrimage, especially as she acquired important data from and about the geth. It sounded reasonable. Still felt like a betrayal. So once again, he channeled all his pain and anger into the single most important job of his life: finding the Collector ship that killed his sister and obliterate it.

It should have been a warning to him when Wrex began to disapprove his methods. It should have been even more alarming when the krogan simply sneered at him that he lost himself and he would no longer help a madman in his suicidal quest. But he went on.

Garrus stayed with him the longest, out of pure loyalty. In the end even he got disillusioned. They parted ways with mutual sadness about the events that led them there. Not that Shepard really cared. None of them knew the pain of a part of them being ripped away from their souls, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.

And then he was truly, completely alone. Without family, without friends, without a job and without his goal in sight.

Without a life worth living.

Sha’ira looked at him for a long time as if searching for something on his face, then sighed and stepped back. “I received a message today. I don’t know who it is from and how did they find you, but I have a feeling it will be important to you.”

That sounded eerie. Shepard turned back to his clothes and shrugged as a signal to the asari to continue.

“The message is: ‘If you want to know what happened with Gorsima, meet me where we took an oath to change our lives, two standard days from now.’”

The heavy silence that filled the room was only broken by the soft thud of the trousers that slipped from Shepard’s grip.

“What did you say?”

 

_If all_   
_If all goes as planned_   
_Will you redeem_   
_My life again?_

 

Shepard fidgeted nervously as the elevator dragged its way upward with the pace of a dead snail. A quick glance confirmed her suspicion: the device was modeled after the lifts in the Citadel. Seriously, couldn’t Earth do better?

“Remind me, exactly why are we here?” Disgust was oozing out of Miranda’s every pore. She even stood in the middle of the elevator, safely away from the dirty walls.

“Why, Miranda, I didn’t know you hated dear ol’ mother Earth,” Jacob teased.

“When John and I enrolled the ICT program,” Shepard cut in, focusing on the question, “we created passwords for each other in case something would separate us. If that happened, there would be a safe place for us to meet.”

“A safe place?”

“A state provided apartment for two traumatized orphans,” Shepard smiled ruefully. “That was the least they could do for us after what happened at Mindoir.”

Funny, how the day when their parents were brutally murdered by batarians was no longer the worst day of her life. That title now belonged to the day, not a week ago, when she first woke up. No, not even the day when she died – dying was easy. Everybody could die. She was a soldier; she didn’t have illusions about the severity of death.

Coming back to life to face the realization and gut-wrenching guilt that you left the person you love the most behind to cope with all of life’s shittiness alone… now _that_ was the bitchy part.

Not that Shepard was planning either of the aforementioned things. Well, dying was somewhat part of the plan – no turning around that – but resurrection was definitely not. They didn’t say ‘the dead are in peace’ for nothing; when one was dead, one didn’t have to worry about anything. No more early morning wake-up calls, no more arguments with your annoying brother about who got to choose the movie for the night, no more saving the galaxy, and definitely no more slow elevators.

Shepard didn’t choose this. But frankly, if someone along the line had asked her, she would have told them to do just the same. Because John was her brother, and she would never abandon him, not even by dying, especially in a time when the galaxy needed them more than ever.

The lift finally pinged as it reached its destination at long last. The doors opened and the three of them stepped into a corridor which was not well lit, not well maintained, not well cleaned… It was not well anything-ed. A sad sight, even more so since this place had used to be a good neighborhood.

Shepard led them to one of the doors and entered a code on the security keypad that was installed on the wall. With a soft click the door opened and Shepard’s fiercely beating heart crawled its way up into her throat. She hoped the Cerberus agents wouldn’t notice the slight trembling of her hand as she opened the door wider and entered the apartment. Miranda and Jacob, displaying some common decency, didn’t follow her.

The room she stepped into was pitch black – only an oblong area of the floor could be seen thanks to the light that poured in from the poorly lit hallway, but the rest of the place was shaded by darkness. Shepard hesitated. Did the message not reach John? Did he decided to never come? But no, the Illusive Man assured her that her coded invitation was delivered and his brother would never ignore it.

As Shepard tentatively stepped further inside, casting a long shadow on the illuminated floor, the unmistakable click of a gun’s safety switch echoed through the room. Even with the complete darkness she knew the layout by heart, and knew where to look. There, on her left, by the kitchen, where the counter would provide sufficient shelter in case of a gunfight.

Shepard reflexively turned towards the sound, her hand moving over her own gun and her body going tense with the readiness of fight or flight.

Then someone switched on the lights and Shepard was temporarily blinded.

“Who are you and how dare you wear my sister’s face!?”

The angrily barked question effectively loosened her grip on her weapon; she would recognize that voice from a million others. She needed another moment to adjust her eyesight… And she was promptly welcomed by a gun-barrel pointing right between her eyes. But what truly melted away her smile and quenched her upsurging relief was the sight of the man on the other side of that weapon.

John looked like a wreck. Frankly, he looked death warmed over and that was saying something as she still had unhealed scars over her face where Cerberus put her pieces together. But John had dark circles under his eyes, new lines on his forehead and hollowed out cheeks. With one glance she could tell he lost weight. His shoulders no longer seemed broad and strong, more like crushed and broken.

The first time she had spoken to the Illusive Man, holographic-face-to-holographic-face, he had told her how her brother had become self-destructive after her death, but she had not wanted to believe a word of it.

She had had no time to dwell on that then as the situation on Freedom’s Progress had been pressing. The Illusive Man had been right on one point: the situation with the Collectors was bigger than their quarrels with each other. Bigger than all of their selfish problems combined. She had a duty so she had better be doing it.

On the colony of Freedom’s Progress they had run across Tali. Unexpected but not unwelcomed. However, what she had heard from the lively quarian about John had been worse that any of her nightmares. That her sweet-hearted brother who always played by the rules would go down the bloody path of revenge, trampling on anybody who dared to stand in his way… That was madness. How could she believe that?

Then again, wouldn’t have she done the same if John had been the one to be killed by the Collectors and she had been the one to remain alone?

Damn right, she would have done the same. She would have brought carnage and destruction on anybody who played any part in her brother’s death. And she probably would have killed herself in the process. Just as John was killing himself now.

So when they had gotten back and the Illusive Man had told her to put together a team she had demanded to meet her brother. She wouldn’t do this mission Cerberus revived her for without John – they were a package deal. Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly as the Illusive Man was known for his foresight) the head of Cerberus had complied. They had tracked down John and had set up the meeting.

She just didn’t expect her brother to be in this bad shape and this uncharacteristically paranoid.

Shepard slowly held up her hands, palms outward, to be as unthreatening as possible. Then she took a deep breath and spoke only one word, stressing each syllables separately. “ _Ake_ -pie.”

The shock on John’s face was priceless. In any other circumstances Shepard would have laughed but right now she was only glad that his brother finally started to lower his weapon and listen to her. So she pressed on.

“We hated it as kids but that was the only sweets Granny could bake so we never told her. After Akuze, while you were recovering, you said to me that it was the one thing you missed the most from home.”

John’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then he swallowed and tried again. “Jane? Is this really you?”

“Yes, you dumbass.”

“But– How–”

At last, relief gushed out from Shepard with a deep sigh. “It’s a long story and you won’t like the half of it.”

That broke the ice. With a swift motion John crossed the space between them and enveloped her into a bone-crushing hug. She returned it with the same fierceness, then held him even tighter when her brother’s shoulder began to tremble with silent crying.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered into her clothes brokenly.

“Never. You’re stuck with me, remember?” Shepard tried to say this with a lighter tone but her words hitched at the end with an almost sob.

After a soundless minute during which the twins didn’t move away from each other, Miranda forcefully cleared her throat. “If everything’s fine and dandy, can we finally go inside?”

Shepard, with a final squeeze, let go of her brother who immediately turned away to gather himself.

“Yes, sorry. Come in.”

The two Cerberus agents breezed into the apartment; Miranda looked like someone forced a dead rat down her throat while Jacob seemed positively fired up.

“Sorry to interrupt.” The ex-Marine stepped closer and performed an abrupt salute. “Jacob Tyler. This is Miranda Lawson. It’s an honor to meet you Com– um… Shepard.” He reached out to shook John’s hand. “I have just one question that really bothers me.”

John took the hand amicably. “Shoot.”

“What is Gorsima? And what happened with it?”

The two Shepards glanced at each and an identical grin appeared on their faces.

“Gorsima was Jane’s favorite pink stuffed-rabbit that she accidentally ruined.”

“It was my pink stuffed- _dog_.” She shot an annoying look at Jacob, daring him to laugh. “I was four years old.” Then she turned back to John, accusingly pointing a finger at his chest. “And if I remember correctly, it was you who suddenly decided to play surgeon on him.”

“Hey, I was four years old, too.”

“Excellent,” Miranda chipped in, impatiently. “Now that we are all past the reminiscence, can we get to the point? The Illusive Man gave us a job to do.”

“The Illusive Man?” John looked them over with a darkening expression. “What are you doing with Cerberus, Jane?”

“Long story short, they were the ones who put me back together. No, don’t start! I don’t like it either, believe me, but they have information on the Collectors and they believe the Reapers are a relevant threat. Just trust me on this, please.”

John studied his sister for a long moment, then sighed and holstered his gun as a sign of acknowledgement.

“Alright, _Captain_ , but we would need a ship – a good ship – since you kind of crashed the last one.”

“It’s your lucky day, _bro_ ,” Shepard smirked back, “since I have the Normandy. Well, _a_ Normandy. Well, it’s more like a second version of it.”

“How–” started John but then bit his tongue and shook his head, dismissively. “You know, once you will have to tell me everything from the beginning. But for now, we should go and stop the Collectors and the Reapers.”

“Together.” Jane nodded, then raised her fist and bumped it into John’s waiting one.

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

 

_And I need you to recover_   
_Because I can't make it on my own._   
_(M4 Part 2 by Faunts)_


End file.
